Five Times Michonne Was Sure It Wasn't Love, And The One Time She Was
by Richonne Writing Network
Summary: Michonne Foster lived life to the fullest, but true love always seemed like nothing more than a dream - until the day she met Rick Grimes and fell head over heels.
1. Martinez

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* * *

 **Martinez**

 **By RickRhymes**

* * *

For the first time ever, Michonne entered the barbell section of her gym. Feeling unmotivated to run or bike, she looked forward to the thought of trying something new.

It was early still, barely dawn. And only a few faces - all preoccupied - were in the building to notice her fumble through her first time lifting a barbell, which she was grateful for.

There was a single barbell rack. And the bar, loaded with plates, was already hoisted up onto it. She had barely touched it when a man called out to her from the boxing corner.

"Sorry," he apologized, jogging to her. "I left these on here. Didn't even wipe everything down."

"That's okay." She watched him remove his plates and grab a container of sanitary wipes, giving the bar a good once-over.

"Should be good for you now," he said, turning to go back to the punching bags. But something stopped him. "You used these before?"

"No," she admitted.

"I can help get you started if you like," he said, seeming to forget all about what he was doing across the room.

"Yeah. Okay," she agreed, knowing the alternative was looking like a fool trying to give it a go alone.

"Alright. I'm Caesar, by the way," he held out his hand. "My friends call me Martinez."

"I'm Michonne."

Over the next half hour, he gave her some pointers on how to stand, how to hold the bar. Then, he guided her through some basic moves with only the barbell on her back.

All in all, she wasn't sure how she felt about the lifting. But she wasn't hating the company. Martinez was good looking, with dark hair, dark eyes, and a genuine smile. Visually, he was clearly Hispanic, and an accent - while barely perceptible - was definitely there.

During a break, Michonne asked him, "Do you always skip your own work-out to help the newbies?"

She was fishing, but hopefully not being too obvious about it.

"I ought to," he said. "I own the place."

That surprised her, considering he didn't offer that information upfront. It was also mildly disappointing. As the owner, he would have a strictly professional interest in helping his members navigate the landscape of his establishment.

"But," he added. "I mostly just thought you were cute."

Later that morning, over coffee, they talked about work and their backgrounds - she was born and raised in Georgia, he came up from Costa Rica as a child. And everything was going well, until she inquired about why he decided to own a gym, expecting a spiel about a passion for fitness.

Instead, she got: "I want to be the one in charge. Didn't have to be a gym, that's just how it happened. I like being the boss, everyone doing what I say."

And try as she might, Michonne just could not shake her distaste for that, for power-hungry men. Despite their initial chemistry, she realized this was going nowhere.

 _Oh, well_. As the song said, _on to the next one..._


	2. Morgan

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* * *

 **Morgan**

 **By charrrmed**

* * *

Michonne was intrigued by Morgan Jones the moment Sasha told her where she was supposed to meet the high school chemistry teacher: the beach. More specifically, Sasha had booked them a parasailing session on Tybee Island after she'd learned that they were both spending a week of their summer vacation there. A man who would agree to such an adventurous first date was a man that Michonne wanted to know.

She wished she'd had enough advance notice to pack a sexy bathing suit, though. Alas, she had to make due with one of the two-pieces that she had packed. It was still in good condition: white with elaborate green, pink, and lavender flower patterns. The bottom piece was high waisted and covered her belly button, and the top piece looked like a brassiere, lifting her breasts up. All in all, she looked good. It halfway didn't matter, because her top half was going to be covered with a life jacket.

Still, she got the reaction she wanted when she walked up to the man wearing what Sasha had told her Morgan would be wearing: grey and black striped board shorts and a grey shirt. He smiled at her, and his whole face lit up, which caused her to smile in return.

"Please tell me you're Michonne," he said boldly as he reached out his hand.

Michonne chuckled, appreciative of the compliment. "I am. Michonne Foster. You're Morgan?"

"Jones, that's correct."

"Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet _you_."

"Are you ready for this?" she asked as she adjusted her sunglasses.

Morgan stuttered for a bit before laughing. "To be honest, this is the most random thing I've ever done. My, uh, my wife was the adventurer."

"Oh," Michonne said as her smile wobbled and her face twisted in confusion. "You were married," she said, trying to pick her face up from the pristine sand.

"Yeah, uh…I'm a widow. Jenny, she, uh, she passed last year."

" _Last year?_ " she asked and then she immediately wished she hadn't sounded so scandalized. She hoped that her dark shades shielded how far her eyes had popped out.

"Her car wrapped around a tree," Morgan explained as he nodded. "She was high on her meds, and…"

Michonne stared at him, mouth agape. What a way to introduce one's self. Where the hell was the conversation going to go from here? She was going to kill Sasha.

"Addiction," Morgan said.

Michonne snapped her mouth shut and swallowed. "Wow. I'm so sorry. So, is this your first...?"

"Date? Yeah," he said with a small laugh.

He was very handsome, especially when he smiled. But Michonne did not want to be part of anyone's grieving process. Especially the _first_ part. She wasn't quite looking for a relationship, but she also didn't want to spend her time trying to compete with a deceased woman. A _wife_. First Martinez and now this man. She was on a freaking roll.

"We were married for 20 years," Morgan said with a sad smile.

He was still going. Morgan Jones didn't need a first date. He needed to take a course on the dos and don'ts of a first date.

"She loved the beach."

Michonne wasn't smiling anymore. She was returning to Atlanta in two days. Sasha Ford was a dead woman.


	3. Ezekiel

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* * *

 **Ezekiel**

 **By cakebythepound**

* * *

"So what made you pick the _zoo_ for our first date?"

Michonne flashed a smile at said date as they approached a footbridge, slowing their stride to a halt so they could take in the view. "Well it seemed innocuous enough," she shrugged. "I didn't realize it until I asked you out, but... I don't really know anything about you."

Ezekiel chuckled back knowingly. "Yeah, I realized the same as I pulled up to your house today. I know what you like to eat for lunch, that you're never late, and which of our colleagues you probably wouldn't save from a fire, but... that's _about_ it."

"Oh, I'd save all of them," she shook her head, continuing to grin at his joke. "I just wouldn't _want_ to."

"Right…"

"So maybe we should try that whole getting to know each other thing?" she suggested, resuming their stroll. She wanted to get to the tiger exhibit before the place got too crowded.

He nodded, immediately defaulting to his personal favorite subject. "Sports?"

Michonne winced, thinking of how she was often excluded from office discussions on Monday mornings because she had no interest in football or basketball — she had her ex to thank for that. The summer Olympics were more her speed, which meant she only got to shine every four years. "I love swimming," she said.

Ezekiel scoffed, amused. "Good thing I didn't get those Atlanta United tickets for us then."

"Yeah… no." She would've hated that as a date. "Well how about the arts? You like museums? Or theater?"

"I like music," he offered.

Her face lit up. "Have you been to the symphony?"

"I… would say I'm more into classic R&B than classical," he chuckled. Awkwardly.

"Oh. Well… I like everything." There was optimism in her tone, but she was losing hope here. And it probably didn't help that she'd recently had two failed attempts at this whole dating thing.

Still, she and Ezekiel continued to try and find common ground. They discussed television and travel, finding that they differed in those subjects too. She was loath to discuss politics beyond knowing he leaned left — once all was said and done, she would still have to work with him, after all. And it seemed crazy to discuss anything heavier on the first date, but then… A pair of kids, probably no older than five, scurried past them, and she figured she might as well bite the bullet.

"How do you feel about kids?" She asked it casually, but she was holding her breath for his answer.

" _Love_ kids," he replied, highlighting the point by grinning sweetly at the passersby. "They're like these little love bombs runnin' around."

She let out a small sigh of relief — at least they had something in common other than great skin and their loc'd hair.

"But do _I_ want kids?" he appended, already shaking his head at the notion. "...Probably not."

"Oh." Michonne visibly deflated, but drank it away with a sip of her melting smoothie. She quickly realized that perhaps she and Ezekiel got along so well at the office because they were the only two black people there — and sometimes, that was all you needed at work. But it wasn't going to make for a relationship. So for now, she would just enjoy the tigers.


	4. Tyreese

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* * *

 **Tyreese**

 **By tellyoscar**

* * *

Michonne stood near the large stone house surrounded by ethereal gardens. It embodied the romance and joy of the occasion. Guests moved about the spacious grounds, chatting near the manicured hedges, slipping under the swooping white marquee for drink refills and hors d'oeuvres and stopping to offer congratulatory words. Even the weather, in it's warm, cloudless state seemed to be a supernal gift to the future newlyweds.

"He makes her so happy. I want to be that for somebody one day."

She glanced up to find Tyreese's eyes on her, a broad smile on his lips.

She never claimed to understand the strange and inexplicable phenomenon that was attraction. Tyreese was a conventionally attractive man. He was a kindhearted gentleman with a genuine interest in her, however, they were lacking an obvious spark between them.

Recently, when Sasha reintroduced the pair, she boldly proclaimed how perfect Michonne would be with her brother. She cited their countless (in her eyes) similarities, from their athleticism to interests in similar societal causes.

"They're too damn cute," she agreed, taking a sip from her drink as she admired Maggie and her fiancé, Glenn, as they moved across the stone path near the rose bushes, rocking to and fro to the buzzing jazz music. Maggie could barely contain herself, erupting into a fitful tear-spilling laughter when he whispered something in her ear.

"It's good to see you again," he said, sincerely. "We haven't spoken much since the club. Sasha told me how busy you've been."

In truth, she hadn't given much thought to Tyreese after they parted with a tepid kiss that was unsurprisingly spark-less. She wondered if her expectations were too high. Perhaps she was too much of a hopeless romantic with unrealistic relationship ideals.

"That was a crazy night!" She threw her head back, laughing at the memories came rushing back.

"I didn't take you for the dancing type, then you climbed on that table. Those moves, man!"

"It was my best friend's birthday," she defended lightheartedly. "I like to let loose every now and then. Thanks for not laughing at my moves."

"I don't have room to judge," he laughed. "It was fun though. You're an amazing friend to my sister."

"She's been good to me too."

He looked down, his brows knitting together as if he were trying to conjure up a memory. She took a long sip from her glass as she waited for him to continue.

When he finally raised his eyes to meet hers again, he wore a look of resignation. "I must say, I really like this friendship thing _we_ have going. I'm fine with things staying as is."

In his eyes, it was clear he understood what she realized weeks before. Whatever they had wouldn't extend beyond mere friendship.

"I think you'll definitely have what they have one day. You're too sweet not to."

"Well thanks," he said. "You're definitely next though."

"I don't know about all that, but I'll take life as it comes." She placed her glass down on a nearby tray, before linking arms with her platonic date. Tyreese may not have been the one for her, but they had the makings for a wonderful friendship.

"Come on Ty. Let's go get some more of those hors d'oeuvres and find that Sasha of ours. We can hit the dance floor after."


	5. Mike

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* * *

 **Mike**

 **By lovedevilmoviesbaby**

* * *

Mike wasn't "the One".

Michonne supposed that she always knew that, deep down, even in college. Still, her modern sensibilities rejected the idea of a soulmate, a person preordained to be your partner. It was enough for her to choose. She chose Mike.

The problem was, Mike was choosing a whole lot of people over her lately.

It started slowly, so that she didn't notice it right away. Mike wanted to get in shape. Being a staunch believer in physical fitness, Michonne was supportive. Gym time together was very nice—at first. It became apparent that Mike wasn't a big fan of cardio, nor did he take direction well on lifting, at least not from his girlfriend. Michonne was almost relieved when he decided to get a personal trainer.

Mike hit it off with his trainer, becoming fast friends. Gym time led to bar time, which led to game nights, and guys' nights. Even still, she did not complain. She had friends, after all, and time apart was good for any couple.

In hindsight, it might have been too much of a good thing.

It was the third consecutive weekend that Michonne was home alone. One might forget she even had a boyfriend for all the time they spent together. Michonne sat on the couch, becoming increasingly more livid as she considered this. He'd promised her quality time. Yet here it was, 10pm on a Saturday night, and he was nowhere in sight. Her lingerie, procured especially for their alone time, was beginning to get uncomfortable.

She took a deep breath, picked up her phone and texted him. "Mike, where are you?"

It took 9 whole minutes before her phone vibrated again.

"Shit, sorry babe. Got caught up after the gym."

Michonne's eye twitched. "I thought you were coming straight home," she reminded him, glad that her terse tone couldn't be heard through the texts.

"I was…" his excuses came line by line, setting her phone vibrating. "But Terry and his girl had a fight. We had to go cheer him up." Michonne flushed, her body heating up, even as the phone kept on buzzing. "I'll be home soon."

She typed her response, fingers blazing across the touch screen, temper flaring. "Don't bother." She hit send. "Terry isn't the only one fighting with his girlfriend now."

Furious, she turned the phone off, headed to her room, replaced her lingerie with pajamas and laid awake, glaring at the ceiling.

When she got up the next morning, feeling marginally calmer, she turned her phone back on to find 1 missed text. Her rage began anew when she saw that the text wasn't even from Mike.

"Go easy on our boy. He's trying to be a good friend. ~Terry."

All things considered, Michonne felt she let Mike off easy. She didn't even yell when she dumped him.

Maybe she was a little disappointed that Mike wasn't the One. But, at least she didn't have to deal with his plus one anymore.


	6. Rick

We're trying something new and giving you this series all at once for your reading enjoyment because we love our readers!

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To find more works from these talented writers, go to our favorite authors section or check out their tumblr pages.

* * *

 **Rick**

 **By semul**

* * *

"Damn it," she swore under her breath.

Spotting the gleaming key on the driver's seat floor, Michonne sighed in frustration.

Her car was in the shop. So when Tyreese offered his '98 Honda Accord, she'd gratefully accepted. It was ironic really. The moment she'd settled out of desperation was the moment everything went to hell.

In fact, the same could be said of her dating life. Her last five relationships – as brief as they were – turned into mere moments of desperation.

 _No more,_ she decided. She was done with dating and she was done with this car.

Convincing herself of her resolve, she almost didn't hear the inquiring voice.

"You alright, miss?"

Cupid didn't exist. It was an indisputable fact but doubt gnawed at her as she turned to drink in the sight.

Dressed in uniform, the bow-legged man gently tilted his head at her. His mischievous smile sent her stomach aflutter and enraptured her so thoroughly, she nearly forgot to blink.

He repeated his question, "You alright?"

Fighting against the tongue-tied state he'd provoked, she huskily stuttered, "Locked myself out."

Nodding, he shifted his stance. "I might have something for that." He awaited her permission before retrieving his tools from his truck. Holding his tools up, he arched his eyebrow. "May I?"

 _No wedding ring or tan line_ , she noticed as she let the chivalrous officer proceed.

He wedged the window and expertly slid in the metal. Her stomach tightened at the imagery, an urgent need simmering inside. Her eyes dragged across his fit backside.

Clearing her throat, she shifted her attention. "You do this often?"

He glanced at her, answering between focused grunts, "Every now…and then."

She barely heard his answer as his look of concentration sent shivers up her body. He bit his lip, squinting up at the sky, wiggling the tool until…pop!

"There we go," he murmured, carefully pulling the tools out before wrangling the door open for her.

Allowing her eyes to linger up his commanding form, she expressed her appreciation for his sincere gallantry, "Thank you."

"Anytime." He steadily held her gaze, still holding the door open. "I'm Rick, Rick Grimes."

"Michonne Foster."

He smiled. "Michonne." His drawl, gentle and deep, captured her full attention.

She was in trouble. Her earlier resolve was quickly fading. Her insides trembled in anticipation as he continued gazing at her like she'd been the one to save him.

Forcing herself to blink, she quipped, "So, you help damsels in distress for a living, Rick?"

Her inquiry nearly went unheeded as she bent down to retrieve her wallet and keys.

Glancing away from her display with a blushing smile, he considered her question. "You could say that."

She stood, biting her lip. There was something about him, something irresistible, inescapable, that drew her in.

With her impulsiveness beating out reason, she stammered, "I was um…," she scoffed at her unease, the heat between them burning away all coherent thought.

When he grinned at her, she steeled herself. She wasn't going to let this gorgeous and considerate man slip away. "I'm thirsty. You?"

"Parched."

She glanced at the soda machine near the store entrance. "Buy you a drink?"

Weakening her last defense, he accepted, "Okay."

She was in trouble alright. Though, the thought promptly vanished as she finally allowed herself to bask in the warm glow of fate.


End file.
